


Beneath The Skin

by Fiachra



Series: Metamorphosis [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Dragons, Gen, I throw whatever I can think of at Han and he just rolls with it, Inhuman Skywalkers, Not Quite Human, Star Wars Dragon AU, Star Wars Shapeshifter AU, are they ever?, bless him, darkness but then fluff, they are part force after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 19:51:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12372843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiachra/pseuds/Fiachra
Summary: “They share a scent,” Chewie said once.“What?”“An underlying one, like, ozone. Or maybe fire. But not. Something… else.”Some similarities go more than skin-deep. As do some abilities.





	Beneath The Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [PirateArrowXAB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PirateArrowXAB) who helped me a lot with this story, which for some reason decided to be extremely stubborn. Thanks friend!
> 
> Also a shout out to peradi's excellent work [wonderterror](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560054/chapters/23328502), and the equally wonderful [Luke Skywalker. 19. Full Human.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11418339) by samvelg. Both these works really helped me get the tone I wanted across here. Thank you!!

In hindsight, Ben, _Obi-Wan_ , realised, it had been a foolish thing to do. He had forgotten his previous experiences, or, as his inner voice snidely said, conveniently ignored them. They had little time, too little time, and he must give the boy at least _something_.

Luke had been on edge since reaching Mos Eisley, watching every being with wary eyes, occasionally rolling his shoulders in a way Obi-Wan supposed was meant to have a calming effect but just seemed to hype him up more.

With his Force-sensitive eyes Obi-Wan could see more. Could see Luke’s second form struggling to take over, could see the way his shadow rippled and became huge when a passer-by bumped into him. It took the phrase, “jumping out of one’s skin” to a whole new level.

After the excitement of boarding the Millennium Falcon, astonishingly with no appearances from large reptiles, and now that Tatooine was being left far behind, Obi-Wan suggested going through some basic drills.

(If you had looked closely though, you would have seen that the lack of reptiles was only possible because Luke had held himself _tight_ , tighter than ever before, a sensation best described as trying to contain a nuclear explosion in a matchbox.)

“Stretch out with your feelings,” he said as Luke yelped at receiving yet another sting from the remote. Han tried and failed to hide a grin. Luke stilled and shut his eyes.

Chewbacca roared and Han let out a yelp of his own as a dragon rapidly filled the space. Luke switched back almost immediately, his outline in the Force flaring wildly, becoming large and winged before settling just beneath his skin.

Silence, apart from a concerned murmur of “Oh dear,” from 3PO.

“Remember how I said your ability draws on the Force?” Obi-Wan said as casually as possible. Luke nodded slowly.

“But I don’t feel like I draw on anything, it just happens,” his eyes flickered towards Han, who was frozen in place, half fallen off his seat.

“Because you are so used to it. Concentrate on it now, acknowledge what you’re doing. Allow the Force flow through you rather than into you.”

Luke retrieved the fallen helmet and saber, igniting it with a soft _whoosh_. Through his other eyes, Obi-Wan saw the Force dance around him, moulding itself into a glowing set of wings before reforming into a shining cloud around Luke.

He beamed as he succeeded in fending off the bolts, and Obi-Wan breathed a small sigh of relief. No harm done. For now.

“So…” Han swallowed, pulling himself upright, “That’s the Force huh?”

  


***  


In the chaos that followed, Han didn’t dwell on the kid’s talent until later. The universe was strange, and sometimes that strangeness just had to be put aside and dealt with as normal until the occasion ever arose in which to scrutinise it.

Those occasions were surprisingly few and far between.

In most areas of life, Luke was as subtle as a herd of banthas. But in this he was surprisingly discreet. Han only ever saw the change if he happened to catch Luke slipping away in the early hours of the morning or late at night.

He told Leia one evening when it was just the three of them, along with Chewie and the droids. For a second her she looked on the brink of blurting something out, then frowned and asked some nondescript questions instead. Han often caught her squinting at Luke as if he was a particularly complicated maths problem she couldn’t solve.

“They share a scent,” Chewie said once.

“What?”

“An underlying one, like, ozone. Or maybe fire. But not. Something… else.”

And that was all he could say on it.

It was their secret. But this was war, and some secrets can’t stay hidden forever, especially under such circumstances.

Small skirmishes were common, those doing supply runs learnt to expect clashes with both Imperial troops and sympathisers. Once they and some others were ambushed, and their weapons removed before anything could be done.

Then one of the troopers had slapped Leia brutally across the face.

Luke had roared, a bellow of rage that shouldn’t have been possible from a human throat, and swelled in size like a djinn out of a bottle.

There was fire and blood and screams. Their captors flared bright like torches before collapsing wreathed in dragonfire. A terrified screech became a horrible gurgling as a trooper met his end in Luke’s jaws.

Then it was over, and the large dragon was a small human once more.

The memory of Luke’s human face smeared red, eyes wild, teeth bloodied and bared in a snarl, stays with Han for a long time.

“I’m still me,” Luke had said to him, the day after the Death Star’s destruction, hopping off a rock with sinuous, feline grace. And that was true, true even when drenched in blood that was not his own. Maybe especially then.

He doesn’t hide it after that, and carries on as normal, despite the renewal of whispers that follow in his wake. Wedge challenges him to a race, wings of flesh and blood against mechanical, and everyone cheers and laughs, glad of a spectacle to distract them.

But Han remembers Luke fleeing the scene after that fateful day, remembers him scrubbing his face raw and huddling in a corner of the Falcon. He couldn’t be coaxed out until Leia had crouched by his side and whispered something in his ear, Han never found out what.

The haunted, feral look in his eyes had not been entirely human.

“It’s different,” Luke said once after yet another fool saw fit to deprive him of his lightsaber, thinking a Jedi neutralised without his weapon. A fatal mistake. “Taking a life with your own hands in that way.” He had gotten more accustomed to it, but was never happy about it.

Han had nodded, said, “I get it kid,” but he didn’t. Not really.

No-one really notices or mentions that in certain lights tiny dark scales can be seen scattered over the gold, like ashes, down his spine.

  


***  


In hindsight, it seemed so _obvious_.

Leia sometimes seemed to take up far more space than seemed possible, her tiny frame commanding respect as easily as someone twice her size. Her fury could burn as well as any fire. When she and Luke were angry, Han swore he could hear an inhuman growl in their words and see their eyes start to glow.

(The eyes were the worst. The sight of their eyes subtly glowing as if lit from a fire within, and their pupils narrowing like those of a serpent, was enough to make him want to start running and never stop.)

Not to mention her shadow stretching into wings on occasion, only for them to vanish if Han looked too closely. Or her strength. Or her cunning. Or her fierce ruthlessness that went hand in hand with deepest devotion to her cause and people.

  


Han sits alone now, away from the festivities. The single torch he brought and the moon’s light is more than enough to see by.

Luke and Leia had slipped away not long ago, telling Han to meet them here, that there was something they wanted to do.

He hears them before he sees them. A whistle of wings and two dragons land before him in perfect unison.

(That was another thing. Luke and Leia acted as if they were one sometimes, in a fight they fought as if they shared the other’s mind. Perhaps, Han thought now, they did.)

For a moment, Han sees the twins as children of the Force clothed in wings and scales, sees the ability to nurture the whole galaxy in their talons or destroy it with a tail swipe. He sees energy and power, the same that flows though the smallest insect and fuels the largest stars, swirling around and through them, so much he wonders if their ability to transform is a necessity to prevent it destroying them.

Then he blinks, and they are his friends again. Luke, wide, gentle eyes the same as always, and Leia, more regal than ever in scales of white and silver but still with a softness she reserves just for them.

He fancies he can feel it, feel the Force when he touches their scales in wonder, feel it jump between all of them as if they are overflowing with it.

(This is not a sensation restricted to their non-human form. But then again, are they ever really human?)

Han grins, looks up at them both. Some would call them monsters. He thinks they’re the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen.

“Don’t get too used to looking down on me Princess.”

Leia snorts and knocks him to the ground, human again as she pins him there, Luke laughing all the while.

Are they human? The answer to that is simultaneously not at all and absolutely.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Of Monsters and Men's song [Human](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0EnrFe3Zb6k)


End file.
